Execution
by DreamsofSpike
Summary: For the prompt "mock execution" on comment fic site. When Nick's enemies really want to get to him, they know just how to do it. WARNINGS: graphic violence, assumed character death
1. Chapter 1

Some part of his mind wonders how they did it – how they managed to get his unlisted number, to somehow hack into his internet account and bring up this vile video, unbidden, onto his screen, at their own will, through no actions of his own.

Mostly, he knows it doesn't matter – not when he's seeing this horror show play out before his eyes – this very real, moment-by-moment horror show starring his best friend and lover, taking place as he watches, helplessly, unable to stop it, or even to know where it's happening. Nick watches, frustrated, helpless panic rising up in him as the faceless, hooded figure on the screen lashes out, striking a brutal blow with the butt of his gun across the face of the figure in the chair.

_Monroe… no, this can't be… just_ stop _it!_

He wants to scream at the figure tormenting the bound blutbad, his head bowed, his breath ragged and audible with exhausted agony, but he knows they can't hear him. Can't see him. No, that privilege is his and his alone. All he can do is watch as the nameless, masked tormentor continues to viciously abuse Monroe, who looks as if he's already taken a hell of a beating, and then some. His face, his bare chest, are streaked with blood, darkly bruised in places.

His captor abruptly presses the gun to his temple, the loud click of the chamber making Nick's stomach drop, his hands clenching around his phone so tightly that he's afraid he'll break it. Maybe he _wants _to break it. He _definitely _doesn't want to just _watch_ while this happens.

"Go ahead," the harsh, distorted voice on the video says, taunting as he presses the gun harder to Monroe's head, and Monroe flinches a little, biting back a cry of pain. "Say goodbye. Your lover is listening."

Monroe stares up at the camera, and Nick can see the horror dawning in his eyes, realizes he didn't know that until just now. He shakes his head a little, looking away with shame that shouldn't be there on his face. Nick's heart breaks just a little more, because why should Monroe shoulder any of the blame for this? This is _his _fault. He's the one they're after, the one they want to hurt.

Turns out, they knew just the perfect way to do it.

"Come on," the masked figure persists with undisguised disgust in his voice, striking Monroe in the head with the gun again. "Tell the _Grimm_ how much you _love_ him. Voice your unnatural, perverted affection for him one last time before we take pity on you and end your wretched existence."

Monroe doesn't respond, though he's visibly trembling. Nick wonders briefly why he doesn't _woge_, why he doesn't rage and fight. His stomach clenches when he realizes… that must have come earlier.

Monroe seems to have no fight left.

"Or, you can die, without telling him. Your choice. This small mercy won't be extended for long."

Monroe looks up, tears in his dark eyes, mouth trembling as he struggles to form words. "Nick, I… I'm sorry," he whispers, words breaking as his shoulders shake. "I – I should have… been more careful, but… this _isn't_ your fault, man, okay? I – I could have stopped anytime. We both… kn-know that. I… I _love_ you…"

His voice drops off, and he lowers his head, trying and failing to maintain some semblance of control. The masked man pressed the gun harder against his head, cold and vicious as he snarls, "Say goodbye."

Monroe shakes his head, unwilling, but the man hits him again with the weapon, raising his voice and demanding, "_Goodbye_! _Say it_!"

Nick stares helplessly, tears streaking his face, as Monroe struggles to obey, the required word visible on his lips, but not audible at all.

"_G-goodbye_…"

"_No_!" Nick cries out as the screen goes abruptly black, a loud crack of gunfire accompanying the suddenly blank screen.

He stands there in shock, the phone falling to the floor, his legs trembling as he struggles to make his way to the door. He has to get busy, has to do the work before him, because he has to do _anything_ but think about what's just happened. There wasn't time to save Monroe, wasn't time to _find_ him, even.

But he'll find them _now_… and he'll make them pay.

He arms himself and opens the door to leave… and nearly trips over the still bundle lying on his porch. He turns the light on, looks down to see what it is – and freezes, heart racing with mingled horror and hope at the sight of Monroe. He's battered, bloodied, still and silent, on Nick's front porch – but there's no gunshot wound where it should have been, if – if what he'd seen on that video feed… or… or _hadn't _seen...

Nick crouches down swiftly, holding two fingers to Monroe's throat… and sobbing with relief when he feels a pulse, rapid and weak, but _there_. He's about to put his arms around his blutbad, to bring him into the house where it's warm and bright and _safe_, when he notices a crumpled piece of paper tucked into the pocket of his blood-stained, torn flannel shirt. Nick takes it out with shaking hands, reading it swiftly… and feeling his blood run cold.

It reads simply, _Next time, we do this for real._


	2. Chapter 2

Nick wasn't exactly a big guy. He knew getting Monroe inside wasn't going to be easy, not when he was unconscious and injured and unable to help in any way. He wasn't even sure he should move him at all, not when he didn't know where he was hurt. Nick knew that Monroe had taken several powerful blows to the head; he'd been forced to witness them himself.

But above all, he knew that he couldn't simply leave him out here, injured and vulnerable and possibly dying, while he waited for an ambulance to arrive.

He wasn't even sure if calling an ambulance was an option. Some _Wesen_ DNA was different from human DNA, wasn't it? So what if taking Monroe to a hospital, where he'd be subject to various tests and scans – and who knew what those tests might find? – would be placing him in even greater danger? Nick was still too new at this, didn't know enough to make a call on that yet. He'd have to wait for Monroe to wake up and tell him what _he_ wanted Nick to do.

But in the meantime, Nick had to get him inside, where he'd be safe.

Thankfully, just as Nick wrapped an arm around Monroe, under his shoulders, Monroe began to stir to consciousness, letting out a low groan of pained protest at the motion.

"Shh, it's okay," Nick whispered, not sure yet if they were really alone, or who might be watching, or waiting to try something else. "Monroe, it's okay… we've just… gotta get you… inside…"

As Nick tried to get to his feet, hefting Monroe's weight up with him, the _woge_ rippled across his face, and he let out a snarl – but it was a weak, desperate sound, something like the falsely fierce hiss of a kitten with its back against the wall, frantic with fear while attempting to appear as a threat. And wasn't _that_ a tragically ironic comparison that just about made Nick want to cry.

_But _you_ don't get to cry, not yet anyway… he's the one that's hurt, gotta get him safe, gotta focus on taking care of him…_

"Easy, Monroe," Nick said softly, struggling over the threshold of his house at an awkward, agonizingly slow limp. "Easy, it's just me… I'm so sorry, not trying to hurt you, just gotta get you… where it's… safe…"

Finally, they reached the sofa, and Nick laid Monroe down, kneeling down as he did and taking a moment to catch his breath, taking in the bruised, bleeding spot at Monroe's temple, from the blow that had left him unconscious. Monroe shifted on the sofa, a low groan escaping his lips, his hands fumbling at the upholstery, then gripping it as if trying to push himself up.

"No, no," Nick soothed him, alarmed at how easy it was for him to push Monroe back down with just a single hand on his shoulder. "Easy, don't try to get up, okay? Just rest… just… let me see where you're hurt, okay?"

Monroe seemed to settle momentarily at the sound of Nick's voice, but when Nick reached for his shirt to unbutton it and check for more injuries, Monroe jerked away from him, struggling frantically to push him away.

"No," he protested, his voice weak and shaking. "No, no, don't…"

"Shhh, shhh, I'm not going to hurt you, it's just me, easy, Monroe," Nick said softly, giving up his pursuit and trying a different tactic, instead helping Monroe to sit up a little with one arm behind his back, and trying to gain his focus with a gentle hand on his face. "Monroe, come on, it's just me, it's Nick… easy…"

Monroe opened his eyes, blinking and cringing a little from the light, disoriented. Finally, his fearful, confused eyes met Nick's, and he froze, staring up at him for a moment in disbelief.

"N-nick?"

"Yeah," Nick whispered, nodding, leaning in to press a soft, gentle kiss at the corner of Monroe's bruised, trembling mouth, then lingering close, one hand running slowly, soothingly, through the hair at the back of Monroe's head. "It's okay. You're safe now. It's okay, you're here with me and you're safe…"

As realization dawned in Monroe's eyes, his shoulders began to shake, and he closed his eyes, reaching out blindly to clutch at Nick's shirt and pull him closer. Nick's arms rose automatically to take him in as Monroe lowered his head to rest on Nick's shoulder.

"Nick," he whispered, his voice a broken sob. "I thought… Nick, I thought…"

Nick's voice was thick with the tears he tried to blink away, and he nodded. "I know," he whispered. "I know, me – me, too. But you're okay. You're safe. You're okay."

When Monroe finally seemed calmer, Nick carefully withdrew, ducking his head to try to meet his gaze. "What did they do to you?" he asked softly. "Where are you hurt?"

"I-I'm okay," Monroe insisted. "Took a – a couple of knocks to the noggin, but… other than that, I – I'm okay."

But he wouldn't make eye contact, and Nick was less than convinced. He reached out to touch Monroe's jaw, tilting his head up a little until the _blutbad_ reluctantly met his gaze.

"I need to be sure," Nick said softly. "Please, just… humor me. Okay?"

Monroe rolled his eyes, but the gesture lacked its usual snark, and he hesitantly complied, reaching down to unbutton his shirt. But his hands were trembling too badly, and after a few moments, Nick reached out to gently pull them away, and then took over. Monroe was quiet as Nick pushed his shirt back over his shoulders, then lifted his undershirt for a closer inspection. Monroe's back, chest, and stomach were covered in bruises, but there didn't appear to be any other injuries.

"I'm not taking my pants off, no matter how nicely you ask, but… if I did you'd just see more of the same." Monroe tried for humor, but it came off weak and nervous, fading into a pained grimace. "They… they knocked me around quite a bit, but… but nothing else," he explained, his voice unusually subdued and self-conscious. "You know, besides… besides the… pretending they were gonna blow my brains out."

Nick flinched, wanted to protest, but the haunted look in Monroe's eyes as he looked away, one arm sliding down to wrap around his torso anxiously, silenced him. If Monroe could talk bluntly about this, who was Nick to tell him that he shouldn't? Who was Nick to tell him how to deal with _any_ of this?

"It's okay," he said at last, not sure what else to say. "You're safe, and… and I'm going to find those guys. I'm going to track them down and…" He paused, swallowing hard, trying to keep his voice under control. "… and _end_ them."

The sharp look of alarm Monroe gave him told Nick that he'd failed a bit in the area of control. He took a deep breath, steadying himself a little before focusing on Monroe.

"What were they? What did you notice about them? Do you know where they were keeping you?"

"They're called… _totschlageren_. Which is… less about what they _are_, and more about what they _do_. It's one of the… less specific Wesen monikers. They're sort of like… I guess the closest thing might be… a panther? Really, I – I'm lucky to have gotten away with just – just a beating. I mean, they're – vicious… feline style hunters and… and killers who like to… to, uh… play with… their prey, and… and… u-usually they…"

"Easy," Nick murmured, stopping Monroe with both hands gently steadying on his forearms, just as his control started to slip away from him. "Shh, it's all right. I shouldn't have asked. Not yet. It's just… I want to make sure you're safe."

Monroe nodded. "Yeah. I… I'm sorry, I – don't know where we were, but… it was by water. I know that, because… I could smell it. But I didn't see anything. They kept a – kept something over my head until we got there, and… and it was this… dark, empty room, and… I was a little… distracted, you know? I-I'm sorry…"

Nick didn't say anything else, just ran a soothing hand through Monroe's hair, staying close and quiet until he'd calmed down again.

"I… I don't want you to go," Monroe confessed at last, his trembling hands clenching in the soft fabric of Nick's shirt. "Normally I'd say I can take care of myself, but… obviously…" He gave Nick a rueful grimace, looking away in embarrassment. "If they… if they came here while you were gone, or… or if you _do_ find them, and..." He looked up at Nick again, his dark eyes troubled. "These are some bad dudes, Nick. I'm not sure… you know, if you're by yourself, taking them on…"

"I won't go, not yet," Nick assured him, though he knew Monroe was smart enough to pick up on the fact that it was hardly a promise. "I just… I want you to get some rest, okay? Do you have something in your kitchen? Something that might help you rest?"

"There's… a canister of tea beside the stove. If you know how to make it…"

"I've made _tea _before, Monroe," Nick pointed out teasingly. "I'll get it started. You just stay here and rest, okay? I'll be right back."

Monroe nodded, resting his head on the back of the sofa and closing his eyes as Nick rose and made his way into the kitchen, his pace calm and measured. He closed the kitchen door behind him and went to the counter beside the stove, taking up the canister in question and placing his hand on the lid to open it. Then he stopped, closing his eyes, trying to think about the simple process of making the tea, and not the layers of bruises all over Monroe's body, the sheer terror on Monroe's face in that terrible video, and how desperately Monroe was trying to act is if he was all right, as if everything was okay now.

Nick set the canister down with a loud clatter, slamming his palm against the counter and cursing under his breath as tears of fury and frustration flowed from his eyes. He'd tried so hard to keep it together for Monroe's sake, to be the calm, steady one so that Monroe could safely fall apart – but all he could see when he closed his eyes was the monsters who'd tormented and terrorized the person who meant the most to him in the entire world – and the vicious, bloodthirsty things he wanted to do – _would_ do – to them in return.

_But first… first, I need to be here for Monroe, and that means… helping him feel safe and secure enough to rest, to sleep… and then once he's asleep… then, I can go…_

_I can go and kill them all. _

With that goal in mind, Nick took a slow, steadying breath, then reached for the canister again. The sooner the tea was made, the sooner Monroe could fall asleep – and the sooner Nick could make sure the monsters that had hurt him never touched him again.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time he had finished making the tea, Nick's hands had just about stopped shaking.

He lingered in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to whistle, taking advantage of the few minutes he had to try to calm his unsteady nerves. Rage and relief, worry and a sense of grief that wouldn't seem to go away, even now that he knew Monroe was alive – all warred within his mind and emotions, overwhelming him completely. But he couldn't let them – not yet, not while Monroe was still so badly shaken, still so in need of his support.

Monroe was the one who'd almost been killed tonight – who'd been physically and mentally _tortured_.

Nick had to keep it together just a little while longer.

When the tea was ready, he stirred some honey into it, along with some powdered herbs that Monroe kept in the cupboard with the tea. Monroe had informed Nick a few months back that they served as a powerful pain reliever and sleep aid, so Nick figured they could only help now. He carried the steaming mug into the living room, where Monroe was sitting up on the sofa, wrapped in the soft blanket that was usually slung across the back of it. His knuckles were white where they held the blanket together around him, and there was a look of alarm in his eyes as they darted toward the kitchen doorway, before it faded into recognition and relief as he realized that it was just Nick.

His reaction only further ignited Nick's fury, making him want nothing more than to leave now and track down the creatures that had reduced Monroe to this fearful, uncertain state. Nick sat down on the edge of the sofa, holding out the mug for Monroe to take it. Monroe dutifully tried to do so – but his hands were shaking so badly that the steaming liquid spilled over the edges, and he hissed with pain at the contact with his skin. Nick swiftly moved his own hands to cover Monroe's around the mug, stilling his trembling and steadying the mug before taking it gently and setting it on the coffee table.

Monroe raised one hand to cover his eyes, an embarrassed grimace twisting his lips. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "This is ridiculous. I – I shouldn't be so… so shaken up about…"

"Please," Nick cut him off with a soft huff of disbelieving laughter. "Monroe, I'd be more worried if you _weren't _shaken up by what happened. Anybody would be. Cut yourself a little slack, okay? You just need a little while to let your nerves settle. The tea can wait, all right?"

Monroe nodded, lowering his hand, but he didn't raise his head, didn't look at Nick at all. Nick hesitated a moment before sliding back further onto the sofa and wrapping a gentle, cautious arm around Monroe's shoulders. The fine tremor he felt still coursing through the blutbad's body made him feel a rush of protective emotion for his lover, and he gently squeezed his shoulders, uttering a wordless murmur of approval and encouragement when Monroe turned his face toward Nick, hiding it against his neck.

Nick raised his free hand to rest at the back of Monroe's neck, stroking soothingly through the short hair there and whispering gently into his ear.

"Shhh… you're safe now, it's all right… I've got you… you're all right…"

Nick just held Monroe like that, soothing him with his words and with his touch, until the trembling finally began to die away, and the tea had cooled enough that it wouldn't matter if a little of it spilt over Monroe's hands. He drew back a little from Monroe, shushing him gently when he let out a sound that was alarmingly close to a whimper at the sudden, if slight, distance between them.

"Hey, just sit up a little, okay?" Nick coaxed him quietly. "I want you to drink this, all right? It'll help you relax and get some rest."

Monroe nodded, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand and averting his gaze again, and Nick realized with a pang of sorrow, and a rush of fury at Monroe's attackers, that the _blutbad_'s face was stained with tears. Nick casually pretended not to notice, lifting the mug and placing it in Monroe's hands again, this time keeping a steadying hand in place to ensure that at least most of the liquid made it into his mouth this time.

Monroe dutifully drained the mug, taking no visible pleasure in the sweet, warm liquid, but clearly only doing so because he knew Nick wanted him to. When it was empty, Nick took it and set it back on the table, then gently pulled Monroe down against him again, settling the blanket around them both. Neither said anything, as he resumed his gentle, rhythmic stroking through Monroe's hair, and slowly, gradually, Nick felt Monroe's breathing grow slow and steady against him, gradually falling into pace with his own.

It was then that Nick realized with surprise that this quiet, peaceful closeness had served to calm his own nerves as well; his own breath had grown even and steady, and he was no longer trembling with the rage, the overpowering instinct he felt to _kill_, as he had been when he'd first sat down. He gently pushed Monroe's shoulder, unsure whether he was still awake or not, relieved when he received no response. Apparently, the potent herbs were already serving their purpose.

Nick slid carefully out from under Monroe, settling his body gently down onto the soft cushions of the sofa and tucking the blanket in around him before quietly heading upstairs, taking out his phone on the way. He didn't want his voice to disturb the rest that he knew Monroe so desperately needed, and would likely find difficult to achieve in the coming days.

Halfway through the third ring, Hank answered his phone. "Hey, Nick. What's up?"

"Hey. I need your help."

"Sure. This doesn't sound good. Everything okay?"

"It will be," Nick sighed, raising a hand to press against his furrowed brow. "I'm at Monroe's. He's hurt. He was… abducted, tonight, and… and beaten pretty badly."

"_Shit_." Hank's voice was hushed with horror. "Nick, is he okay? Are _you_ okay?"

"We will be," Nick echoed his previous words, "just as soon as I can get out of here and track down the animals that did this. But I can't leave him alone right now. He's sleeping, but – if he wakes up, or – if these guys try something again…"

"Enough said," Hank cut him off firmly. "I'm on my way."

When Hank arrived, he sent Nick a text message, and Nick gratefully went to the door, glad that his friend had thought to avoid knocking on the door and disturbing Monroe.

"Hey," Nick said in a hushed voice as he ushered Hank in. "Thanks for coming."

"No problem, man," Hank replied. "Of course I came." He frowned as his gaze fell on Monroe's still form on the sofa, his face bruised, expression taut and troubled even in sleep. "Nick, what happened? Why would someone attack Monroe?"

"Because of me," Nick replied, his words low and terse. "Because he's _with_ me – and there are people out there – human and Wesen alike – who think that's… _unnatural_."

"These guys are _human_?" Hank's tone was disbelieving, indignant. "I mean – _just_ human?"

"Thankfully, no," Nick sighed. "Because it wouldn't change what I'm going to do – and I'd have a lot harder time explaining that."

"You're going to…" Hank's eyes widened as he put the pieces together. "Shit, Nick, are you _sure_…?"

"They tied him to a chair, beat the crap out of him, pistol whipped him, then put a gun to his head and made him tell me goodbye. All live and in color thanks to the video feed they had streaming to my cell phone." Nick's voice was flat, but trembling with anger again. "They _terrorized_ him. They made him believe they were going to kill him. All to send me a message. Next time – they might actually finish the job. I'm taking these guys out before they can touch him again."

"Hey, man, I get it," Hank reassured him, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "It's just…" He hesitated, his shoulders falling as he concluded in a voice of quiet resignation, "… be careful, okay? Last thing he needs is to wake up and find out you've gone off and got yourself killed."

"Not likely," Nick muttered, taking his sidearm from its shelf in the coat closet, as well as another, more _Wesen_-appropriate weapon, and pulling on his jacket. "I don't plan to be long. Keep the doors locked, and if anyone tries anything, call me."

"Got it." Hank nodded. "Let me know if there's anything else I can do."

"You're doing enough." Nick cast a glance toward the sofa, and his face immediately softened at the sight of Monroe's sleeping form, the bruises and bloodied spot on his face making him appear far smaller and more vulnerable than he usually did. "Just – keep him safe."

Monroe had smelled water nearby where he'd been kept; Nick suspected he'd find Monroe's attackers somewhere near the docks. His every instinct was on high alert, his every step silent and carefully measured, as he made his way cautiously through the shadows, checking for signs of anything out of the ordinary. He stopped at the large storage units used for keeping cargo until it was to be loaded onto the ships, eyes scanning the large, sturdy padlocks that kept would-be thieves out, until his gaze stopped, focusing in on the third unit down.

The lock on its door was broken.

The arrogant, careless _Wesen_ who'd attacked Monroe were still inside, laughing and discussing their success as Nick approached. He could see a light under the door, could hear the cruel mockery in their words as they recounted Monroe's reactions – how he'd flinched from the blows after a while… how he'd eventually pleaded for them to stop… how he'd begged for his life.

The thin sheet of metal that separated them from their inevitable fate was flimsy protection from the enraged Grimm revealed on the other side, as Nick threw open the door and faced them, his gun in one hand and a vicious, heavy mace in the other. Three swift shots rang out, as Nick systematically incapacitated all three of them before they could move, crippling each _totschlager_ in his right leg and sending them crumpling to the floor. The cacophony of their cries of pain was like sweet music to Nick, who smiled coldly as he crossed the room to the first one, and swiftly silenced his cries with a brutal blow of his mace across the creature's face.

The second _totschlager _was not so lucky.

Nick's mace came down again and again, raining down agonizing blows across its torso and legs, delivering plenty of pain before he finally delivered the killing blow across the back of its head, as it turned and tried to crawl away.

When Nick turned his attention toward the third attacker, eyes blazing with vicious intent, face splattered with the blood of his two accomplices, the creature was openly weeping, struggling to back away from him on his arms, dragging his wounded leg. "Please," he whimpered, "please don't… I'm sorry… please, d-don't… please, _mercy_…"

Nick slowly closed in on the creature, who had nowhere to go to get away from him but deeper into the storage room. There was no escape – not unless he willed it. The _totschlager_ was shaking, holding up a hand in front of his face as Nick crouched beside it, the heavy iron ball of the mace swinging slowly from his hand.

"He begged _you_ for mercy, didn't he?" Nick barely recognized his own voice, low and dangerous in the darkness. "And you ignored him. You used his terror against him… against _me_… to get what you wanted." Without warning, Nick swung the mace, bringing it down on the back of the creature's hand, and the _totschlager_ howled in pain. "Is _this_ what you _wanted_?" Nick demanded coldly, untouched by the suffering of the creature who'd had no compassion for Monroe.

"_Please_!" the creature cried out. "No, I'm sorry, we won't ever… _I_…" he sobbed out, realizing his mistake as his gaze fell on the bloody wreckage that was left of his partners in crime. "_I_ won't ever… come near you, or… or him, or…"

"Shut up." Nick's voice was quiet, almost bored – and utterly effective.

The _totschlager_'s words fell off immediately, his breath shallow and shaking, as he waited for Nick's judgment.

"I'm going to spare you," Nick said, quietly decisive. "But only so that you can make it clear to anyone else of your kind… anyone else who thinks Monroe is a _target _because he's _mine_." Nick moved in closer, pressing the sharp points of the mace up under the _totschlager_'s throat, smiling when he whimpered in fear. "Any _Wesen_ – or anyone at all, for that matter – who touches the _blutbad_ again. Or even _thinks _about it. Or even _looks _at him wrong. Well – they're going to _wish_ they'd died as swiftly and easily as your friends did tonight. I'll take them apart slowly… piece by piece… while they beg me for death. He's _off limits_."

Nick leaned in closer, his voice softening as he concluded, "You come looking to hurt me? Fine. You'll get a fair fight." Nick shrugged slightly with a smirk. "I'll _win_ – but you'll get a fair fight. You come after _him_…" Nick's smile disappeared, all traces of amusement vanished. "… and I'll _destroy_ you. I'll make every Grimm nightmare you've ever had seem like a sweet dream. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

The creature was unable to speak at this point, beside himself with terror, but he nodded hurriedly, frantically, his one good hand extended in front of him in a pleading, submissive gesture. Nick stood and backed off slowly, waiting until he had backed out of the unit completely to turn and walk away.

When he reached Monroe's house, Monroe was still asleep, and Hank was dozing lightly in the chair across from the sofa. He awakened immediately when Nick entered, drawing his weapon – then relaxing and lowering it with a tired smile when he saw that it was Nick. The smile faded a little when he saw the blood stains on Nick's face and clothing, and the dried blood crusting on the mace in Nick's hand.

"You found them, I take it?"

"Found them. Ended them," Nick affirmed. He turned his gaze away from Hank's troubled, uncertain eyes and toward Monroe. "No one gets away with hurting him. They want the big, bad Grimm they're all so afraid of? That's the quickest way to bring him out."

"Yeah. I can see that." Hank's words were quiet and careful.

"He's only in danger because of me. Because of… of _loving… me_…" Nick's voice softened, and he looked up at Hank with eyes that pleaded for understanding. "So… I _have_ to keep him safe."

"I know," Hank conceded. "I know, Nick. I just – don't want that guy he loves so much to… to get lost while you're trying so hard to… to do that. To keep him safe."

"He won't," Nick reassured him softly, looking back toward Monroe. "Just the bad ones. That's… what Aunt Marie said, and… that's what I do. Not just Monroe, but… anyone those monsters came in contact with is safer now, because of what I just did. That's the test. Is… the world better or worse for my actions? That's the question… right?"

"Right," Hank agreed thoughtfully. "I guess it is."

"And… he's safe now. Safer than he's been since he's met me," Nick concluded with quiet satisfaction. "No one's going to dare to try to hurt him after tonight, so… so I did the right thing."

Hank didn't verbally agree, but he didn't disagree either – and Nick supposed that was the best he was going to get for the moment.

As Hank put on his jacket and prepared to go home, Nick braced his hand on the arm of the sofa, leaning down to press a light, tender kiss to Monroe's bruised forehead, a warm smile on his lips as he withdrew.

"You're safe now," he whispered. "Anything. _Anything_, to keep you safe."


End file.
